


And what do we say to strange women lying in ponds? No thank you!

by katabasiss



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16923927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katabasiss/pseuds/katabasiss
Summary: aka the one in which arthurian myth is a wee tad darker and strange women lying in ponds distributing swords really is no basis for a system of government





	And what do we say to strange women lying in ponds? No thank you!

When Arthur had first met Merlin, the overwhelming thought that hit him was how wholly unremarkable he looked - dressed in mere rags, dirt on his check with his brown hair half covering easily forgettable brown eyes. Morgana on the other hand, when on one the rare occasions she had elected to peek out of her arching windows, had instantly been fascinated by Merlin. She noted the lightning that lit up his veins and sparked under his skin, she noted the sparks of gold in his eyes that forced them to take on a vivid array of sepia tones and most of all, she noted the pure aura he radiated. How mothers subconsciously moved away, how the thunder seemed to cry out only in response to his bellowing voice and how every tree and shadow caved towards him as if only he were the answer.

Naturally, she had to simply get closer. And if Morgana was getting closer, then Arthur was not far behind thanks to the ever-fleeting belief that a competition may ensure. Afterall, if Morgana was intrigued, then by all rights should he too be intrigued. Naturally.  
Over the next few months, by all means did they both get closer to Merlin. Not that they knew it of course. Behind the shadows, Merlin guided Morgana’s hand – whispered honeysuckle poison in her ear and licked the pestilence onto her tongue. In regards to Arthur? Well, things were almost too easy. He’d gift Arthur with glinted and gilded iron, smiling passively and oh so sweet as the edge sliced silently and unknowingly to the bone. He’d rest the crown on his head and watch as the weight slid down to Arthur’s neck, tightening in grip and becoming choking in nature. Why should anyone suspect him after all? Merlin, dressed in mere rags with dirt on his check? Merlin, the one flowers bent to and with gold flooding his eyes like the storms of the old testament? Why, Arthur had never even asked where the sword held to his jugular had come from.

As Merlin plunged his hands into the lake he sat beside, knuckles stark white against the blood – he smiled and as a chilled hand grasped his own pulling him under, his only thought was that strange women lying in ponds distributing swords really should not be trusted. Unless one was their lover of course.

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any errors in this, then apologies. I wrote this high on a ten hour binge of 'hall of the mountain' and with a singular quote in mind - 10 points to whoever can say where it's from!
> 
> (feel free to come pester me at @katabasiss on tumblr)


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